


Down for the Count

by BlackNightSystem



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackNightSystem/pseuds/BlackNightSystem
Summary: Rip knew, he knew everything about everyone. Mick also knew, but they had been partners for so long it would be strange if he hadn’t noticed something was off. Not one other person on that ship though, knew that Leonard Snart had obsessive-compulsive disorder. In hindsight, it probably would have been a smart idea to tell at least one other person; he could have been saved from a lot of unneeded misery. But then, this wasn’t something Leonard Snart had ever actually, personally, told anyone.***Leonard Snart, diagnosed with OCD from a young age, had always tried his best to hide his compulsions from the rest of the world. He liked to tell Mick it wasn't because he was embarrassed, not that Mick believed him. How do the people in his life react to discovering one of his most guarded secrets?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Well, fair warning, it's pretty out of character.

Rip knew, he knew everything about everyone. Mick also knew, but they had been partners for so long it would be strange if he hadn’t noticed something was off. Not one other person on that ship though, knew that Leonard Snart had obsessive-compulsive disorder. In hindsight, it probably would have been a smart idea to tell at least one other person; he could have been saved from a lot of unneeded misery. But then, this wasn’t something Leonard Snart had ever actually, personally, told anyone.

OCD was something Len had been living with since a young age. He hadn't ever had a name for it until his adventures on the Waverider had begun, but that didn't it wasn't still there. His childhood hadn’t been the happiest, he didn’t really hide that, but no one seemed to consider how it may have actually affected him. When Lewis had started taking Len with him on jobs, life became that little more unbearable. The common beatings were bad, yes, but nothing compared to when something went wrong during a heist. Whatever the circumstances, it was always Leonard’s fault. With that in mind, his younger self began to develop ways to ensure the job went smoothly.

At first, it wasn’t really an issue. Len would go over the plan in his head repeatedly. There was nothing wrong with being prepared. The day of the heist, he would go over the plan in detail every hour. If Leonard knew exactly what was meant to happen, there was less chance of things going south and therefore less chance of angering his father further.

This worked well for a while. He, even if no one else did, knew exactly what was going on at all times. The problem came when one of his dad’s new crew got caught. It was Len’s job to watch the guard who had just gone to the bathroom, while one of the other guys got the correct keycard from the remaining guard who was busy wiping them off of the security footage. Five minutes. The guard who left was supposed to be gone for around five minutes, giving everyone plenty of time to get in and out, but Len had not calculated properly. The toilets were closer than he had anticipated so by the time someone had reached the corrupt guard, the other had returned. The thief had left with a hole through his skull and the corrupt guard with cuffs on his wrists.

That night, when someone had finally pulled his father off of him, Leonard thought he was going to die. It wasn’t like he hadn’t deserved it. A man was dead because of him. From that point on, Leonard always counted. Every second in the plan was accounted for. Every step was measured and recorded in his head. He wouldn’t miscalculate again. He repeated his timings each hour he went over the plan.

Checking, counting, these were both things that made Leonard a better thief. Having such a detailed plan meant he was in control. His father had noticed his son’s improving skills, giving him more important roles when on jobs. Len’s organised, analytical approach made him more and more useful. However, soon it became more of a problem than a gift.

His father had picked an old mansion for their next hit. The plan was vague and simple, the execution would be difficult. The building’s schematics had not been updated in over a decade, and a new family had moved in since then. There could be any number of changes. Despite being barely capable, Lewis had always seemed to enjoy a challenge. Houses were not a normal hit for him but this one definitely made it worth the trouble. The family had some of the most priceless diamonds not held in a museum. And a very large distance between themselves and the nearest police station.

Without a set plan to go over, Leonard didn’t really know what to do with himself. He looked over the old floor plan and figured out the time and number of steps between each of the locations, but it wasn’t enough. Without a proper plan, he couldn’t concentrate. He had to check it, he had to know. The day of the job, he spent his time counting his own steps across the length of the current crew’s base. Twelve steps to the wall. Turn. Twelve steps to the table.

Arriving at the house, inhabited by only an elderly housekeeper due to a family holiday, Leonard still hadn’t shaken the feeling that everything was going to go wrong. If he didn’t check the plan, he was going to get hurt. He couldn’t know for certain the time it would take to get to the jewel collection. If he’d miscounted, someone was going to die. He needed to know the steps, the time. Someone was going to die and it would be all his fault.

“Focus,” he remembered hearing over his own thoughts. A man his father knew, but Len had only met last week, had his hand resting on his shoulder. The guy dragged them both down to the ground behind a series of bushes and flowers. “Don’t fuck this up kid, this is important to your old man.” His encouraging words came with a pat on the back which made Len both embarrassed and, although he wouldn’t admit it, calmer. From behind the bush to the house, Leonard counted the steps.

Getting in had been easier than expected. The man he had been paired up with watched as he shut down the alarm system while the other two men there entered the house. “Right, my turn next,” the guy had announced. He moved around the outside of the building to get a better view of the only path up to the house. So far, it was clear. Although they had turned off the security system and power from the outside, the diamonds were protected with a separate system. If Len’s father and his partner made a wrong move, someone would know they were there.

Len knew something was going to go wrong. They were supposed to watch out for the men in the building, but he couldn’t sit still. What if he hadn’t turned the alarms off? Sure, he couldn’t hear anything, but he might have done something wrong and now the police had been contacted and they were going to find them. He had to check the alarms. He hadn’t done it right. Abandoning the man he was told to stay with, Leonard went to check the security system set up behind the house.

Opening the black unit kept covered in an outhouse, Leonard looked over his work. Everything looked as it should. He got twelve steps away from his position before he stopped. Twelve, there had been twelve steps from the table to the wall. He’d made it to the house just fine so twelve must be fine. Maybe twelve was a sign. He turned around and took twelve steps back to the box to check it again. The lookout had left his post somewhere around the fifth check to see if Len was okay.

Criminals were not all heartless bastards like his father had led him to believe. Len hadn’t noticed the man watching him as he counted out loud the steps he was taking, stared intently at the alarm system to check his work. He’d checked the alarms twelve times. The man watched, letting him continue. Leonard looked up when he was done, shaking slightly as he tried to breathe evenly.

The man went behind Len to shut the outhouse door for him, before turning to take him in. “My real name’s Tom, by the way, not Asshole, like your father seems to think it is,” he told Len, who had yet to raise his head to look back at him. “You feel better now?” Leonard felt like crying at that, something he hadn’t done in so long. When was the last time an adult gave a shit about him? He nodded, feeling like a little kid. “We have to get back,” the man, Tom, stated but he did not move. He waited for Leonard to make the first move.

Len and Tom began walking back around the building. “My daughter, she’s only little. She does these things no one else understands. The doctor said there’s something wrong, I should send her off to someone with experience. But she’s my little girl, she’s not being taken by anyone. I want to keep her safe. You’ve got to find happiness in the mundane achievements. One thing I’ve learnt, patience will always work in your favour. I hope you find yourself someone who’s not gonna give up on you, kid. Whatever the fuck is going on in the clever little brain of yours, have a little patience and take one day at a time.”

The crickets in the surrounding filled the silence as the pair rounded the corner of the house. Before thinking it through properly, Len spoke. “You better be a fucking good getaway driver, ‘coz you’re a shit lookout and horrible at the pep talk,” Leonard smiled for the first time in a while. He had no idea where his father had found this Tom bloke, but he was far too soft for the business. Probably a great dad though.

Tom would have been a much better dad if he had gone home that night. Instead, he was shot by the police in front of Leonard. The man his father had just exited the house with also received a bullet as they left, Len’s dad driving as fast as he could from the house. No one ever came knocking, so they must not have been identified.

As it turned out, an alarm had been tripped as soon as they made it onto the grounds. His father really was shit at his job. If only Leonard had made a plan. You should always have a plan.

Laying bleeding on the kitchen floor, Lisa crying somewhere in the distance, Leonard Snart wished more than anything that his father had died instead of Tom. He took a deep breath and counted to twelve.


	2. Mick

Mick had known Leonard for a few years when he first brought up the topic of his partner’s habits.  There hadn’t been much for them to do that week while they laid low after their last heist.  It had been a success, of course, Snart didn’t fail.  The pair, and Lisa who had unofficially moved in with them, were staying in one of their more comfortable safe houses since everyone was in need of warm running water and a home-cooked meal.

The downtime was never something which sat well with Leonard though.  The lack of things to focus on was making it harder and harder to prevent his mind from drifting off into an endless cycle of thoughts and habits.  He knew Mick had noticed, and Lisa was the first to know as she'd grown up with him.  However, it was not something he had ever discussed with either of them.  In general, Leonard tried to ignore the issue at hand.  Showing weakness would only provide others with an easy way to attack.  When he and Mick were having to stay put in a safe house, it was an unspoken rule between them to never bring up Len’s strange needs.  It was a system which kept them functioning well.  Until one night in that comfortable safe house, that is.  Before that night, Mick had never fully seen Len lose control but now he could safely say that it was not something he would ever want to witness again.

* * *

The kitchen was full of noise as Mick was cooking dinner and grunting in the general direction of the radio which had been consecutively playing love songs for over an hour.  Despite the fact that he would never admit it, Mick had always enjoyed a cheesy love song.  While moving to turn on the hob, a sudden crash came from the front of the building with shouting following close behind.  For all he wanted to ignore it, worry took over his brain and led Mick towards the sound.

“Hey Len,” he called from the kitchen doorway, “what the hell is going on?” Frantically pacing the room was Leonard.  He scratched wildly at his arms as he muttered under his breath.  Mick watched for a moment; this was definitely Lisa’s territory, not his.  Come to think of it, where was Lisa?  Not spotting her in the room already, Mick decided to do something about his partner’s apparent breakdown.  Approaching slowly, he stood in Len’s way and grabbed his shoulders as he walked towards him.

Unexpectedly, as soon as Mick got hold of him, Len started to hit him.  Whatever he had been saying before stopped as he began screaming “no,” at Mick.  “Fuck you,” Len yelled at a perplexed Mick.  “I’ve killed her. I can’t stop, she’s going to die. Get the fuck off of me, she’s going to die!”

“What are you goin’ on about, Snart?” Mick asked him, tightening his grip on his squirming partner.  “Is Lisa okay?” At that, Len began to truly panic.  His breathing became more frantic and tears formed in the corner of his eyes.  “Snart what the fuck has happened to her?” Mick’s attempts at getting an answer were cut short when Len his stomach particularly hard.  Wincing, he lost grip on his partner who took his opportunity to restart pacing.  “Fine then, I’ll find out myself,” Mick muttered to no one as he retreated back into the kitchen.  Whatever was going on with Len was beginning to terrify him, a feeling he really was not used to.

Next to the hob which was still supporting a yet to be heated pan of spaghetti, was a jar of notes and change left for shopping.  Half the jar was empty, and Lisa’s bag which usually kept a permanent spot hanging off one of the dining chairs was also missing.  Well, that was an easy problem to solve.  The teenager must have gone out for the night.  Mick turned off the oven, worried for his poor meatballs.  If Lisa was out it would only be him and Len needing for anyway, and Len clearly wasn’t in the mood.  Mystery solved, Mick felt obliged to go back to his partner.

Len took two more steps forward before pausing in his movements, his knees felt weak.  At some point, he’d begun to cry.  Lisa could be out there dead in a ditch and it would be all his fault, so why couldn’t he bring himself to actually leave the house and go find her?  He should be out looking but instead, he couldn’t focus on anything but the counting.  There were seven dollars in quarters he’d counted out that morning.  That was good, they needed that.  He had taken seven steps forward from where he had first been standing, and seven back to that position.  Twenty-eight times from A to B and back again.  There were twenty-eight coins, if he could just get to the end it would be fine, he could calm down.  He scratched at his arm in a desperate attempt to stay grounded, he couldn’t lose count.  It was going fine until Mick decided to step in though.  Didn’t he know what he’d just done?  Lisa was going to be mugged now. She always had a habit of carrying too much money and he was sure that the purse she’d charmed Mick into buying was worth far too much for a teenager to be parading around with it. Oh God, she was going to die and there were twenty-eight coins making seven dollars so if he could just make it to twenty-eight she might be safe. Or she might die.

Mick felt a wave of panic pass over him as he saw his partner fall to his knees in the middle of the lounge.  The young man’s hands reached his head where he seemed to be attempting to pull his skin off.  “Fuck sake Lenny, can’t leave you alone for two fucking minutes,” Mick said more to himself than Leonard.  He stepped fully through the kitchen door to kneel down in front of Len.  “Hey kid,” he began, sounding softer than he had in a long time.  He received no acknowledgement.  His next move was grabbing hold of Len’s wrists before he started to do any permanent damage to that pretty face of his.  Now that got a reaction.

“Get the hell away from me!” Leonard screamed at him, once more trying to pull away.  The feeble attempt only furthered Mick’s worry for his partner.  The quickening breaths had covered Snart’s usual drawl as he spoke, leaving what sounded like nothing more than a child.  The longer Mick knelt there, the more he realised how Leonard was beginning to tip forward towards his chest as he was losing oxygen.  That needed to be dealt with first before Mick could worry about what the fuck was happening.  He’d seen his partner angry before, upset or completely out of it, but this?  This was an entirely different person.

Still out of control, Mick heard Len mutter his name before leaning heavily against him.  “Alright, Lenny. It’s alright, we’ll fix this,” he assured his partner.  The other man had clearly passed out and Mick knew it probably wasn’t going to be pretty when he woke up.  All the touchy-feely stuff was Lisa’s job.  Although Mick would always do anything to help Leonard, he just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.  With ease, he lifted up Len and placed him on the couch, pulling a blanket down from the back of the seat.  In a pile on the kitchen table, he knew there were quarters.  Len, the paranoid bastard, hadn’t let any of them take a phone along so payphone it was.  Grabbing a fistful of change, Mick left the house to visit the payphone he knew was in the car park at the shop down the road.

First Mick phoned some of Lisa’s male friends neither of them had ever told Leonard about.  It just wasn’t worth the hassle.  There was already the rule in place that unless Lisa could provide Len with a phone number for the friend’s house, she wasn’t allowed to go there.  It seemed ridiculous to Mick at first, but right then he couldn’t have been happier about it.  Only one of the boys had answered though, and he’d denied seeing Lisa for at least a week.  Well, that was a blatant lie but he let it slide.

Mick phoned up Molly’s house, hoping Lisa had just decided to sleepover at her best friend’s house for the night.  It was quite a distance away from the safe house, but it was worth a try.  Lucky for him, it was the girl’s mum who picked up the phone.  Once questioned, she told Mick that yes, Lisa had come round for dinner and had been invited to stay.  As far as she knew, it had been okay with her brother.  Mick had told her it was, not wanting to upset the relationship between the two girls, but there had been a family emergency.  Lisa was on the phone in seconds. “Hello?”

“Lise, what the fuck did you do to your brother?” Mick had never been one for small talk.

“I didn’t do anything! Why would it be my fault?” she exclaimed in anger before delicately asking “is he alright?”

“He’s passed out at the house but this is your territory.  Keeps screaming about how you’re gonna die,” on the other end of the line, Mick heard a soft sigh.

“Okay, maybe this is my fault.  I didn’t mean to Micky I promise!  I just wanted to get out of that fucking place but he was being so controlling.  I might have, sort of, by accident, told him he was insane and shouldn’t be allowed to make his own decisions let alone mine.” Lisa seemed genuinely distraught with what she’d said to her brother.

“Listen, kid,” Mick began, “you can stay at your friend’s house alright?  Do whatever, just stay safe, okay?” Lisa thanked him over the phone before making Mick promise that he’d look after her brother.  No matter what, those two would always have each other's backs.  Mick made his way back to the house to deal with his partner.

* * *

Leonard rolled over onto his side before having to stick his arms out over the edge of the couch to stop himself from falling flat on his face.  He took a moment to lay on his back and calm his already increased breathing.  Somewhere at the back of his mind the images of Lisa mugged, left bleeding in an alley somewhere, filled his head.  If he hadn’t provoked her, she would be safe right now.  He could have stopped it.

“Ah, so he lives,” a loud voice filled the room, followed by the bang of the front door.  “Lisa’s with that little shadow of hers,” Mick assured, knowing it was all he needed to say.  “Look,” he began when he didn’t get a response from Len, “I know we don’t do the whole ‘talking about feelings’ thing, but even I think we should forget that for now.” Len sat up to make room for Mick.  His fingers wrapped around his own left wrist to apply pressure in a way that had always managed to ground him.

“She’s safe,” he said after Mick had been sitting near him for a while.  “I know she’s going to be safe, she always is,” he dragged out the words in an attempt to sound more like himself.

“So what’s the screaming all about then?” Mick encouraged him to keep speaking.

“I’m not,” Len paused, trying to think of the right words, “right,” he ended.  “You’ve noticed. I do things sometimes that don’t make any sense.  I’ve tried to stop but what if I do, and Lisa gets hurt?  I can see it, what if I haven’t locked the door, someone would get in and come for her, for you.  What if I die on a mission? She’ll be alone.  I need them to go perfectly or you and Lisa are in danger.” For a few more moments there was silence while Mick processed what might have been the most words Len had ever spoken in one go.

Mick sighed and turned to face Len.  “You can’t stop it. I don’t get what’s happening but I don't want to be without a partner.  Or left to watch the girl on my own.  Tell me what to do, boss,” Mick instructed, nudging Len.

“Just don’t stop me. I… just please don’t.  Sometimes I can stop but I need to do it myself.” Len spoke desperately.  He lifted up his head and moved his gaze away from where it had been fixed on a spot on the floor, in order to look directly at Mick.

“Alright, I can work with that.  We can figure something out,” Mick replied.  Len leant his head sideways to rest on Mick’s shoulder before he could fall asleep.  In response, Mick shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around the back of Len.

From the man on his shoulder, Mick heard a quiet plea, “please don’t leave.”

Mick felt something he couldn’t remember ever experiencing before.  “Never, kid. Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So OCD wasn't officially recognised as it is today until 1994. I don't know when this would be set but Len wouldn't have ever been diagnosed. To keep in theme with that, any of the language above pertaining to OCD will not be correct (such as not saying compulsions).


	3. Rip

Leonard had been sceptical at first, joining a team of so-called ‘Legends’. He wasn't a hero, there was never any part of him which had been particularly heroic. But after a sudden thought, the idea seemed incredible. He’d dragged Mick along with him for the ride because of the countless opportunities. They could steal whatever they wanted, from whatever time they wanted. It was too good to pass up. What Len had failed to consider though, was the fact that he would be moving in with a group of strangers on a ship where they could hardly just leave whenever they pleased. Lisa and Mick were one thing, but sharing a space with so many people who were all so self-absorbed was far too much to get used to in such a short timeframe.

Changing one’s entire way of life is no easy feat no matter who you are. For Len though, things were going particularly badly. He was bitterly aware that he was becoming more and more out of control as he desperately tried to stay in control. Yet to trust the group around him, Len felt the need to protect himself and Mick. If things went wrong for them while on a timeship, the possible ways in which they could be harmed were uncountable. If he messed up on a mission, if he missed something, if he didn’t time something correctly, he could get Mick killed. He could get himself killed and then Mick would be left on a ship he never wanted to board. Although Leonard had feared hurting Mick or himself for years, being surrounded by the Legends he couldn’t trust put him in a position of constant fear. Len had kept up an old habit of dismantling his cold gun over and over after Rip’s little missions. Each time he would put it back together he felt the overwhelming need to just check that he hadn’t missed something, hadn’t messed up the system in some way. Within a minute he would be dismantling the perfectly fine gun again.

After the team would arrive back on the ship and debrief as Rip insisted, Len would leave for the comfort of his own room. The rest of the Legends would, on occasion, spend time drinking together, something Len would sometimes participate in if Mick was around, but whenever Ray suggested they have a meal together directly after a mission, Len would leave. The first time it happened, Ray had questioned him as he felt offended that Snart didn’t want to be near them. He’d eaten with them every other time, so why was he refusing when Ray asked? Mick must have successfully scared the man off after that, because the next time it happened, Ray had said nothing. Mick would eat with the others though, and once he finished he’d grab something light for Len and make his way to the man’s room. He’d learnt that although he couldn’t stop Len, being there made him considerably less frantic than he’d otherwise be. If Mick sat on Len’s bed and waited Len would leave the gun alone after dismantling it eleven times rather than continuing until it supposedly felt right. Eleven was apparently the correct number for most things in Len’s eyes, and Mick had never thought to question it.

It was far from a perfect system, but the pair had made it work. Well, it had been working until Mick was injured on a mission. Mick had been hurt and it was all Len’s fault. He was meant to be in and out of a building within five minutes by Rip’s plan, 160 seconds by his own timings. Mick was providing cover and watching for the guards, who were not supposed to arrive until 160 seconds after Leonard had got in through the underground entrance. They’d arrived earlier than expected and Mick had been outnumbered. A bullet grazed his right shoulder and another had the same effect on one of his legs.

Now, Mick was in the med bay under Gideon’s watchful eye. Len was pacing the floor of his room, instinctively scratching at his arm. Once reaching the end of the room, he’d move his arms only to touch the wall before turning around. Each step was counted, each lap was noted. Being on a timeship was great and all, but there was a lack of actual, notable time. He’d messed up his timings and Mick had been hurt. The overwhelming need for a clock in his view was not at all soothed by Gideon occasionally informing him of an estimated time when requested. If he could see a proper clock, he would have something to match his speed to. Len could stop once the hands reached the hour. Without Mick to stop him, it was the closest he’d even come to staying in control of his own habits.

Leonard reached the wall he’d begun pacing from for the 42nd time when he paused. He was out of breath but not from walking. He’d been nineteen seconds late getting out and now Mick was laying in the med bay. Before thinking things over, he punched the wall in front of him. Left, right; that was one. He did it again, two. Three, four, five. If he could just get to nineteen, maybe he could breathe a little easier. Maybe Mick would be perfectly fine. 

* * *

“Captain, if I may,” began a voice out of nowhere. Rip jumped slightly at Gideon’s interruption. He placed his pen down on his desk and waited.

Rip asked, “what is it, Gideon?”

“I believe Mr Snart may be in need of assistance,” Gideon responded with an almost worried tint in the computerised voice.

“Well Mr Snart is a grown man, Gideon, and I’m busy. What could he possibly need?” Rip sighed and sat back in his chair. If Gideon was worried about the thief, then clearly something dreadful had to be happening. As unhappy as he was at being disturbed, he was far more curious than angry.

“Well Captain,” the computer began, “I believe Mr Snart has been presenting signs of illness and now appears to be injuring himself.”

“He’s what? Hang on,” Rip assured Gideon before walking off in the direction of Leonard’s room. He reached the door and Gideon opened it automatically for him. The first thing Rip noticed was the blood slowly dripping down the wall. On the floor in front of him was Snart, holding one of his damaged hands up with the other.

“Jesus,” Rip muttered before kneeling down. “What the hell’s happening here?” he questioned, unsure of what to do about the man he barely knew frozen on the ground. “Mr Snart, please,” the captain tried again, trying to get his attention.

“Sorry,” Len mumbled, shifting finally. He sat down properly on the floor and leant back against the wall which was still displaying his blood. “It just happened. I can’t stop it. Why can’t I stop?”

“Right, okay. It’s always great finding out that at least half of your crew is insane. Suppose I should have been aware of that when I gathered you all,” Rip stated, moving to also sit down. He looked at Leonard from his new position on the floor and sighed. “I can’t have a crew who are going to self-destruct, Snart.”

Len laughed softly, “I believe you’ve made some terrible choices in shipmates then.” His breathing was heavy from the pain shooting through his body whenever he accidentally moved a finger.

“Let me fix your hands up,” Rip instructed Len rather than asking to do so. Without argument, both men rose and exited the room on their way to the med bay. Still lying in that room, yet no longer unconscious, was Mick. As assured by Gideon, he would be perfectly fine with rest. As if he’d bother with that.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mick asked as soon as Len followed Rip through the door looking hard at the ground. Leonard wouldn't just blindly follow Rip unless he had no other choice.

“The wall was looking at me funny,” Len replied. Mick grunted disapprovingly in Len’s direction but kept watching him with worried eyes. Well, only worried if you’d spent enough years with him to recognise it under the disapproval.

Rip stood next to Len once he’d sat down, and took his left hand to examine first. At least three of his fingers were broken and the rest would definitely start bruising soon. “Gideon should be able to bring down the swelling, but you’ll still need it properly wrapped. I’d be happy to do it if you’ll let me.” He moved to grab a nearby cuf which he attached to Len’s upper arm to allow for Gideon to administer pain relief. Rip honestly couldn’t remember a time when he’d spoken so softly to someone since his son had died. He looked down at Len with his own hidden worry. As easy as it would be to kick Len and Mick off the ship for Len’s clear mental break, he needed them for his mission. There was no one else as good as them who he could take without affecting the timeline too heavily. “You need help.”

“Do tell me, Captain,” Snart drawled, “what exactly do I need help with?”  
“You fucking kidding me?” Mick spoke up from his relaxed position. “All your little… things are too much.” Len looked at the man with hurt as if he’d just been betrayed. “Just do what Trenchcoat says, Snart, ‘cause I can’t follow you ‘round all the time.”

Rip looked up from where he was now bandaging Leonard’s hand. “What things?” he questioned. As far as he was aware, there wasn’t anything going on with any of his crew that he hadn’t been made aware of. “Gideon?” he prompted rather than relying on the men in front of him.

“Captain, I believe Mr Snart has been experiencing symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder. However, I am unable to effectively diagnose this.” Gideon fell silent, leaving the room in a similar state. No one was too sure how to respond to that.

The silence was broken when Mick opened his mouth though, “that the cleaning thing?”

“That’s not… there’s more to it, oh never mind. If it’s correct, Gideon can explain it to you later,” Rip declared, rather than bothering to try explaining something he didn’t fully understand. What he wanted to know, though, was how long Len had been supposedly showing symptoms none of the rest of the team had noticed. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead, Rip took a different route. “The next place we’re going is 2030. If you want to stay on this ship, we’ll find you someone there who can help you. Everyone is in need of a break and as long as no one wonders too far, it will be fine.”

“You want me to see a future therapist? No offence Captain, but I doubt I’m the one on the ship who’s most in need of an intervention,” Snart dragged out, sounding more like himself despite whatever drug Gideon was pumping through his system.

“Well, I will admit that this crew may not be made of the most… well-adjusted people. But that doesn’t change the fact that you need help and if someone can diagnose you, we can move on with the mission,” Rip answered.

“Oi Trench Coat, my partner is worth more than your mission, you got that!” Mick intervened, catching on that Rip must only be playing nice because he needed Leonard. Rip had brought the man onto the ship for a reason, there was no point getting rid of him if the only thing potentially preventing Snart from working was a disorder he could help with until Len was no longer needed.

Len turned his head to see his partner continuing to defend him, or something along those lines. Before he could interrupt, his eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

“Captain,” Gideon announced, “Mr Snart has returned to the ship and had no further appointments scheduled.”

“Perfect, thank you, Gideon. Do you have a new diagnosis assigned to the fake identification?” Three weeks after the incident with the well, Rip was sitting in his office once again. Gideon had set Snart up with an appointment with a psychologist who continued to meet with Snart until he’d gotten an official diagnosis. The Legends had a mission to complete in 2030 in order to gain intel, but after that had finished he left the ship cloaked so the team could experience the near future without interfering too much. And so Snart could finally get some bloody help; help for something which no one on the ship had ever even noticed. At least Leonard had the sense to actually attend the first meeting, after some not so gentle encouragement from Mick.

“It appears my initial analysis was correct, Captain. Mr Snart has been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder. It appears he has also been prescribed Anafranil. Should I control this distribution, Captain?”

“Please, Gideon. I believe that will be for the best right now. Right, tell me everything I need to know. I can’t have this effecting missions, Gideon.”

“Of course, Captain. I have several useful documents available.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now Snart's actually got a diagnosis, next chapter (probably Sara) will have him trying to figure out what that means.
> 
> Not proofread so please tell me if I've done anything wrong!


End file.
